


Paronymous:

by MonsterTesk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Child Abuse, Incest, M/M, Pederasty, Pedophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterTesk/pseuds/MonsterTesk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A word that is a derivative of another and has a related meaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paronymous:

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know why I'm writing this.

Derek knows a lot of things, especially things he shouldn't. He knows a lot of things he pretends not to know. He knows that Stiles prefers cinnamon toothpaste and blue mint mouthwash. He knows Stiles loves apples- of any color. Knows that Stiles doesn't use a body wash or shampoo but that he still keeps a bottle of something in the shower for when Scott stays over. He knows the face Stiles makes when he's texting Scott and knows that Stiles only ever uses laundry detergent that's lavender scented and dish soap that smells like apples. He knows he drinks cokes when he's out but that the drink he has the most is orange juice. He knows, despite his hyper appearance, that Stiles isn't very fond of many candies and generally steers away from sweets.

He knows the specific sound of Stiles' heart beat from a mile away. He knows the smell of Stiles' come and the sounds he makes when he jerks off. He knows the exact smell of the lube Stiles uses and the sounds of Stiles slicking himself up with it.

Most importantly, Derek knows it's wrong to think of a sixteen year old boy like that. Knows it's wrong to be standing in a sex shop trying to locate a specific lube on scent alone. Knows it's wrong that he gets hard when he finds the right one. Knows it's wrong, two hours later, to have his fingers shoved up inside of himself imagining what he's imagining involving that young boy.

He knows it's wrong for the same reasons he knew it was wrong when he was seven and his uncle snuck into his room at night. Knew it was wrong for him to touch him like that, to do the things he did to him. He knew it was wrong even as he relished the praise he gave him. Knows it was wrong to look forward to it simply for those five words repeated over and over again. 'You're such a good boy,' he'd say and it would placate the overwhelming sense of _wrong_  that would later simply become a part of Derek. 

 

Derek knew he would never be right or good or fine. Knew the same way he knew that the anger he felt wouldn't just leave him and take his insecurities with it. Knew the way he knew that he would never be able to admit weakness or show as much to anyone else. 

Because he'd been weak and he'd let uncle Peter hurt him and Kate had hurt everyone he loved because of how weak he was for letting Peter hurt him. 

 

So Derek knew that what was about to happen was not going to end well for anyone when Stiles told him to stop in the middle of the forest and he did. He knew because he'd felt compelled to do so when Stiles had asked, voice strong, and as sure as the blade of Damocles hanging over Derek's head. He knew it would feel good to do as Stiles commanded but he didn't know how much relief it would cause him when Stiles stood before him and pushed down on his shoulder until Derek's knees had gratefully given out. 

It was nothing like with Peter when Stiles slid down his front and bit into Derek's shoulder- hard. It was nothing the same as with Peter or Kate so Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles to make it easier for him to keep his spot, crouched and leaning against Derek with his teeth claiming Derek like instinct cried out to do. It was nothing the same when Stiles pushed Derek's head to the side to expose more of his neck's now taut skin to bite and bite. 

 

And when Derek couldn't kneel anymore- when he was trembling and overwhelmed by so much, he fell backwards, taking Stiles with them. They both grunted with the impact, Stiles dislodged from where he'd been worrying his deepest bite. Derek looked up in awe at the sheer power in Stiles' eyes and the moue of blood. Stiles licked his lips and Derek shivered at the sight of Stiles smearing his blood around his mouth. He could feel Stiles' preternaturally sure hands press into him and drag Stiles down his body. His mouth was gaping and he wasn't sure if he was making noises or not. At least not until Stiles pushed up Derek's leaf covered shirt, pinned his hands at his sides and bit into Derek's soft belly. 

 

Derek made a soft, broken noise and came in his pants, straining and flexing against the weight and strength of Stiles. Stiles dug his teeth in harder and, impossibly, Derek came again sounding as if he'd been punched unexpectedly in the gut. Over the roaring of his blood and the complete obsequiousness of his own mind, Derek could hear Stiles writhing between his legs against the leaves and twigs of the forest floor. Stiles' grip was bruising, his nails digging into Derek's arms. 

The last thing Derek remembers is panting, limp. A light breeze played over his exposed stomach, forced to reroute around where Stiles' head rests against Derek's belly. His hands are still tight and painful on Derek's arms and he can feel the dig of rocks and the itch of brittle leaves against his exposed skin. 

 

When he wakes, Stiles is still there laying on his stomach, his hands still wrapped around Derek's arms. The sun is low in the East, meaning they'd fallen asleep out there long enough for it to be morning. Derek stirs his body and Stiles' with it. They both stand and Derek can feel it now, more than ever. The need. He can feel it coursing down his core between his belly and the strangely still sore spots on his neck. 

Stiles bites his lip and looks away from Derek. When he suggests they never speak of it again Derek nods because of course, whatever Stiles wishes. 

 

And when Stiles presses his hand onto the (somehow still there) bruise on Derek's stomach, his knees fold willingly and eagerly. Stiles shuffles closer and Derek wraps his arms around his waist, buries his face against the dirty cloth covering Stiles' middle. Derek shakes his head, a resolute 'no' because it hadn't been what Peter had done. He hadn't done what Peter had done. He's squeezing tightly and tensing, he knows. 

Then he feels Stiles' hand on his head, carding through his hair and his head stills, he stills. He relaxes when Stiles' other hand comes up and brushes along Derek's bruised neck. He can hear the soothing noises that Stiles emits over the sound of their hearts beating. He feels whole, relaxed, safe.

 

Derek knows he's crying. 


End file.
